Dean-ception
by LadyTuesday
Summary: Dean's dream within a dream is not just about his insecurities and fears, as usual. Mild Destiel, mostly at the end. Spoilers for 8x17. Rated T for coarse language and very mild slash.


A/N –Welcome to my very first fic in the Supernatural fandom. If you happen to be a Harry Potter fan, you may have seen me at a few other sites. I've recently become an insane fangirl for this show and a dedicated (read: "rabid") Destiel shipper and Misha Minion, so be prepared to see more from me in the SPN world. Also, I'm flying solo without a beta, so all mistakes are mine and - hopefully - pretty minor.

This is set after Goodbye Stranger, 8.17.

Reviews are love, so please feel free to give them (even _constructive_ criticism).

~ ** Lady Tuesday ** ~

* * *

**Dean-ception**

Dean sighed heavily as he watched the two hunters slowly circle each other and glare, the one twitching every now and then as his opponent launched verbal attack after verbal attack. Feeling some of the sting of the insults himself, his hands jerked at his side as he resisted the urge to lay out the jibing man with a good, solid right hook.

"This is, without a doubt," Dean said, "the weirdest thing I have ever dreamed."

After a moment of silence, a gravelly voice came from behind Dean.

"It is a somewhat disturbing mobius strip of reality, isn't it?"

Dean whirled around to see Castiel behind him, glancing at the two other Deans, one practically snarling his insults as the other did his best to keep a calm façade in the face of having his worst insecurities laid out to him.

"You dreaming about yourself dreaming about … yourself arguing with yourself," the angel finished, his brow puckering in the tiny expression that Dean had learned signaled confusion and mild distress. "It is a lot of Dean Winchester crammed into one subconscious."

Dean's lips quirked up as he gave a small chuckle. "Yeah, it's like … Dean-ception."

Castiel's brows furrowed even further. "I don't—"

"Understand the reference," Dean finished for him. "Yeah, I know. Dude, someday when all this bullshit is over, I'm tying you down to a couch and forcing you to watch all my favorite movies and TV shows. Just so you'll understand what the hell I'm saying most of the time."

Castiel tore his gaze away from the Deans again to allow the corners of his mouth to pull up a little further.

"I like that," he said. When Dean raised a single eyebrow, Castiel explained, "You and I. 'After the bullshit is over,' as you said."

The smile dropped from the angel's face as he watched the Demon Dean's eyes snap to black.

"He was wrong, you know; _you _were wrong."

Dean turned to face himself but turned back quickly, his stomach churning with the memory of the dream and the dirty secret that so many of those insecurities still hung on.

"What do you mean?" Dean hated the way his voice cracked a bit when he said it.

"I can't speak to the dynamic between you and your father," Castiel said gently.

The angel took a few steps, bringing him close within Dean's realm of "personal space", but the hunter didn't complain. Castiel tilted his head to the side.

"But," he continued, "I have seen your soul, Dean, and you are most certainly not empty inside. You are not meaningless without Sam. I can say with certainty that you are not just a good soldier. In fact, from the point of view of someone who spent millennia as a soldier before you were even conceived, given the fact that you are nearly incapable of doing what you are told without rebelling against authority, I believe you would be a _terrible _soldier."

Dean's eyes watered suspiciously, but he laughed at the end, a sad smile pulling at one end of his lips. "You didn't see me with my dad, though. It was all 'Yes, sir', 'no, sir', 'of course I'll take care of Sammy, sir'. When I was with Dad … I _was _just a good soldier."

Castiel frowned again. "You are not 'just' a soldier, Dean. You are _warrior_."

Dean couldn't help but glance at his shoes and flush a bit at the note of warmth and steely pride in the angel's deep, raspy voice. When he looked back to Castiel, his friend's eyes were again focused on the pair of arguing men.

"He was right about one thing, though: you didn't deserve what your father thrust on your shoulders. Any of it."

Despite lacking a need for breath, the angel gave a heavy sigh and then cocked his head to one side as his bright blue eyes focused a laser-sharp gaze back at Dean.

"Such a heavy weight this world has forced on your shoulders, Dean, and you didn't deserve any of it. And yet, you continue to carry it without a word of protest."

"Nice to hear somebody say it," Dean muttered, but shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.

It _was _nice to hear someone finally acknowledge everything that Dean dealt with every day, but the straight-forward praise was also strangely too much for the hunter to handle. So Dean changed the subject.

"Why did you run away, Cas? Why did you run away _again_?"

The angel made a weak gesture with his arms and sighed heavily. "I wish I could explain, Dean – it's not that I don't trust you—" he said when the hunter opened his mouth to rebut, "—but more that there are things I must do before I can explain fully. And I _will_ explain, Dean. I promise you that. But if I gave you information now, before my task is complete …"

Castiel whirled away from the elder Winchester and began pacing in useless frustration. "I have to keep the angel tablet safe, and in order to do that, there are things I must do. Things _I _must do, Dean," he interrupted as Dean started to speak. "I'm sorry, but you can't help me. And if anyone in Heaven were able to track my movements, the first thing that they would do would be to come after you to draw me out of hiding."

"Gotta love being human bait," Dean said with a growl. "And this Naomi chick, whoever the fuck she is," Castiel winced at the vulgarity, but didn't interrupt, "I owe her a _major _ass kicking for whatever the hell she did to you. I will use your angel blade to make that bitch's wings into a frickin' angel kabob, I guaran-damn-tee it."

One corner of Castiel's mouth quirked up in a tiny smile as he watched Dean pace the room opposite to Castiel, his fingers caressing an angel blade that had appeared strapped to his waist as the dream shifted to respond to Dean's anger. When he noticed it, Dean's face slipped into an expression of shock and the blade vanished. Realization melted over his features shortly after.

"Is that why you didn't zap down here?" he asked, turning to face his friend again. "Because you'll be a blip on Heaven radar?"

Cas nodded, unable to help the guilt painting his features.

"So that's why you're rooting around in my head? Wanted to see if we'd come on Angel Radar yet?"

"No," the angel responded simply.

When he failed to elaborate, Dean threw his arms apart. "Okay, I give. If you're not trying to wrinkle out what Heaven is doing, why are poking around in my subconscious, huh?

Cas didn't hesitate. "I've missed you."

The simple bluntness with which his friend delivered the words made Dean's heart stutter in his chest. The blue-eyed gaze fixed on him again, simple and naïve and open this time, and Dean found that whatever words he had thought about saying stuck somewhere in the back of his throat. The motel backdrop flickered around them and, without really meaning to command it to do so, Dean changed the scenery.

Castiel's eyes smiled even if the rest of his face didn't follow suit, and Dean shifted in his seat, watching Cas's long fingers smooth across worn leather.

"The Impala, Dean?" he said with a tiny laugh in his usually flat voice. "Why are we in your car?"

Damning the blush leaping onto his cheeks, Dean cleared his throat and turned fully to be able to look over the top of the front seat to where Cas sat in his "usual" location.

"Maybe I miss seeing you back there."

Cas gave a tiny huff of a laugh. "Strange, that an angel could become a typical fixture in such a machine."

Dean would have felt it was an insult if not for the near-reverent way that the angel's voice mentioned his baby. "Not the only angel to have sat there, either. Though, I admit, the most permanent."

"And the least compromising position," Cas added, tipping his head to the side as Dean whipped around to face front, hiding his discomfort – poorly – behind a cleared throat.

"You know about that, huh?" Dean coughed.

"Mmm," Castiel remarked. "I felt when her hand touched the mark on your shoulder, yes."

"You felt… when we were—?"

"I have a feeling that she knew I would. That is most likely why she did it."

Dean glared at Cas for a moment before turning back around and banging his palms on the steering wheel in frustration. "Bitch," he muttered.

Castiel shrugged, though Dean didn't see it. "Does that bother you, my knowing about your carnal relations?"

Dean cleared his throat again. Another unconscious thought and suddenly Dean was in the back seat with Cas, the angel relocated into the very corner where the "compromising position" had taken place, and Dean close to the angel. Too close. The hunter could feel the heat of Castiel's leg where it pressed against his thigh.

Castiel straightened up from his new position reclining against the rear driver's side door and leaned into what Dean referred to as his 'personal space'. Cocking his head to the side, Castiel asked in a quiet voice, "Are you doing this?"

Dean couldn't seem to get his heartbeat under control, so he focused his gaze on the back of the driver's seat as he responded, "Doing what?"

Cas leaned even closer; so near that Dean could feel the angel's breath on his cheek.

"Are you pushing the dream consciously or … or is it me? I feel … compelled," the angel answered.

Compelled. That was a good word for it. Dean couldn't seem _not _to turn his head to meet the angel's gaze; at the mercy of some seemingly greater force, Dean was unable to look away from Castiel's eyes as he said, "Compelled to do what?"

An expression of open astonishment on his face, the angel raised a hand towards Dean's face, so near to his own. In contrast to the last time this had occurred, Dean found that he didn't shy away from the hand in expectation of further violence; as a matter of fact, he couldn't seem to resist leaning into the long, graceful fingers as they cupped his face. Dean's eyes fluttered shut without his consent.

Before he could even register the brush of Castiel's nose against his, Dean felt the warm, damp pressure of the angel's lips against his own. His hand flew up to clasp Castiel's wrist in his grip, not pulling it away from him but clutching like a lifeline. And before Dean could barely acknowledge that the kiss had happened, it was over.

He flicked open his eyelids to see the angel pulling back from him slightly; Dean was left feeling as if those morning sky eyes could dig down to his soul just by looking into his. And though the press of Cas's lips on his had only occupied the space of a second or two, he felt as if the angel had sucked away every drop of oxygen in his lungs.

After a moment, his breath came rattling back in a gasp. It took another second or two – where Dean nearly felt ashamed that his fingers spread out to stroke the inside of the angel's wrist as his slim hand cradled Dean's face – before Dean could form words.

"So …" Dean stuttered, "so … was that my dream … or you?"

Cas tipped his head to one side and gave a tiny smile. The flutter of angel wings became the rustle of bed sheets as Dean startled awake in his bedroom in the bunker. Dean slowly brought a hand up to his tingling lips, his cheek still warm from the angel's smooth palm.

* * *

A/N - So there you have it, my first Supernatural fan fic. As I said, there will definitely be more on the way: I have about a dozen one-shot plot bunnies in my head and I'm currently working on a multi-chapter fic about Purgatory. If you like what you saw, please don't forget to favorite/follow me and review!


End file.
